


The Cryptid Knight

by whitebeltwriter



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, Superman: The Animated Series
Genre: Blood and mild gore will probably be mentioned at some point, But like beetlejuice tim burton funny to watch but scary to be on the recieving end of scary, Crack, Prompts are welcome and appreciated, There is no plan besides watching batfam become as creepy as possible, fluff?, superman stops by, this is tumblr's fault, wtf is chronological order?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2020-10-13 22:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20590319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitebeltwriter/pseuds/whitebeltwriter
Summary: Based on a tumblr post:What if instead of Batman making criminals fear him through brute force, he instead freaks them out by being as inhuman seeming as possible (while still beating them with brute force).In short: Batman is out here to scare the living daylights out of bad guys and he's having such a good time right now.





	1. How Batman Got His Creepy Groove

**Author's Note:**

> Fully inspired by ayellowbird's post on tumblr (link at the end) on Batman becoming the Cryptid of Gotham.  
I.e. a Batman who's less Broody McBroodster and more "I came out here to scare the shit out of some criminals and I'm having such a good time right now"

He hadn’t intended to become what he is: not at first and definitely not at this intensity. Then again who does?

It began not long after he first donned his cowl and began the lifelong war of taking back his city.

Mere months after he began, he’d come across a gang looting a small electronic store; three of them, more concerned with wiping the blood that had spilt from the split lip of the owner off the wide-screen TV they were stealing than actually paying attention to their surroundings.

The first–the one who had been closest to where he had entered the store–fell quickly with a sharp blow to the chin and didn’t rise again.

That had been too quick for him–how was his reputation supposed to spread if no one was conscious enough to tell what they saw? So he took more time with the second, coaxing him into throwing wild punches that he dodged with ease before he too fell with a decisive blow.

The third–the one who had backhanded the owner until he bled–_that one_, he decided, would make a wonderful field test for his new gadget; a batarang with a built in taser. Only when he threw it, the adrenaline of the moment got to him–training only does so much when confronted with the real world–and coupled with the still unfamiliar weight of the new batarang, it went wide and struck a outlet where it had the unexpected result of causing all the lights and TVs that were plugged in to flicker on and off in an almost violent fashion.

The flare guard he’d added to his night vision goggles in the event of flashbangs spared him from the worst of the strobing and, not wanting to taking any more chances, he quickly vaulted the store aisles and took out the remaining criminal. He had all three tied together and was taking his leave just as police sirens began echoing their way down the late night city streets.

All in all, it had been what would become an “average outing” for him.

Until he received the police report (i.e. hacked the police servers) and read the statement of the third would-be robber.

While his cohorts gave typical “I didn’t do it, you can’t prove anything” bullshit statements (the reason why he was checking up in the first place; to ensure the police had what they needed to put the right people behind bars) the _third_ gave an account that read more like one of the cheap horror stories he’d read as a kid.

“–a living shadow–“

“–shapeless–“

“–moved like nothing he had ever seen–“

“–_not human_–“

It was that last statement that got to him, setting something inside him into motion before he had even fully comprehended it.

Hadn’t he chosen the bat to strike fear into the hearts of criminals? Hadn’t he thought earlier, during this exact robbery, that he wanted people to spread his reputation, his _legend?_ And what was a better legend;

A man with superior skills and tech beating down wrongdoers one by one?

Or something that wasn’t a man, something that was _else,_ skulking around the city’s dark underbelly like a demon escaped from somewhere far darker.

A man could inspire fear; he knew this for a fact.

But a monster?

A monster could inspire _terror_.

And _that_ was worth looking into.

* * *

He took advantaged of the wall-to-wall mirrors in his personal gym and set about learning to move as _wrongly_ as possible, drawing on the contortionist skills he’d originally acquired in order to escape from tight situations.

It took time to wrangle his limbs into motions that looked unnatural while still maintaining “functionality of movement”; or, as Alfred liked to put it, “being able to punch from unorthodox, gravity-defying positions without _actually_ falling on your derriere”. After watching him for a time, Alfred dubbed his technique “the Deranged Bat” the Gotham variation of the Drunken Monkey style.

Eventually, he developed enough of a muscle memory for his new “style” to warrant a full field test on the unsuspecting criminals of Gotham.

It was a _resounding_ success.

Within a week the lower level criminals (the street thugs and wannabe gangsters) were murmuring about _something_ stalking the streets at night. Something that moved with twitches and twists; that was less than human.

As the name “Batman” became more and more known, Bruce thought to himself, if such a little thing like changing how I moved did this much–

What else could I do to strike fear into the hearts of those who wrong this city?


	2. Birth of the Boy Horror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a quarantine to get you off your ass and back on your WIPs.  
Stay safe everyone.  
Except the bad guys in this fic.

He’d never intended to work with anyone.

Yes, Alfred was an invaluable asset and confidante (not to mention the voice of reason when he needed it most). _And_ he’d already decided that if the situation proved dire enough he would work with the other heroes (if only to minimize the damage done to his city).

But as far as his night-to-night escapades were concerned, he worked perfectly well enough _alone_ on the streets, with no one but Alfred in his ear for company.

Then, tragedy struck; at the circus of all places.

The traveling big top was lit-up by emergency vehicles, their flashing lights bombarding the area like a fabric castle under siege.

Tuning in to the radios of EMTs and police reveals the story to the Bat; the show’s main event, a pair of acrobats dubbed the Flying Graysons, famed for performing without safety nets, suffered from unexpected equipment failure and plummeted to their deaths in front of a full house. Conversations washed over him as he debated the odds of professionals allowing the very tools of their trade, their literal livelihood, to come anywhere near the status of faulty.

“–line came apart right in the middle of their act–

“–checked it twice myself! It was a brand new wire not even a month old–“

“–saw some characters talking to the ringmaster this morning. Nasty looking dudes–“

“–known them since they joined. Officiated their wedding myself. I was even there for the birth of their son–“

He zeroed in on that particular conversation. The Graysons had a son? Had he been here tonight? Had he _seen_?

“–Poor kid. No one should ever lose loved ones like that, let alone right in front of him. _Shit_ where is he?! Hey- anyone seen Dick?!”

It proved enough for him to set off to find the boy on his own. Even if there ultimately was no foul play, no child deserved to be alone after witnessing their parents' death. None.

He found him– a wiry boy no older than nine or ten –seated on the back of a wagon away from the lights and noise. His arms were wrapped so tightly around his knees that every lean muscle was defined and shaking but his face– streaked with still running tears –held nothing but rage fueled by sorrow.

He didn’t even flinch as the Dark Knight stepped out of the shadows towards him.

Before the Bat could say anything– _anything_ besides “_I’m sorry about your parents_”, words he grown to hate from an endless line of pitying adults who had no idea of the pain he’d suffer –the child spoke up.

“They say you punish the wicked. They say you track down evil-doers and drag them to hell,” the boy– _Dick _–said. “Is that true?”

The Bat considered him for a moment. “Do you believe something happened tonight? That this wasn’t an accident.”

“My parents wouldn’t even touch a line if it had so much as a speck of rust on it; forget perform on them when they’re half eroded away.” He pulled a wire out of what Bruce now saw was a brightly colored tunic, green and red, similar to what his parents wore on their show posters. Even from where he stood the Bat could see the ends were melted; still thick enough to hold at first, but also just thin enough that the stress of two full-grown humans swinging with force would cause it to snap.

“Why haven’t you given this to the police?” He asked, not patronizingly.

Dick bowed his head slightly, finally appearing like the child he truly was. “I can’t. They claimed they own this town. What if that means the cops too? I couldn’t risk it, but now I don’t know what to do.”

“Who are they?”

The rage returned. “Zucco and his lunkhead goon! They’ve been bugging the Ringmaster since we got here about ‘protection money’ this and ‘tourist tax’ that!”

The Bat knew of Zucco. He was scum; Bruce had been taking out his lackeys for months now but hadn’t had a chance at him yet.

“When did you last see him?”

Dick wiped his face. “Earlier today. He was talking to the Ringmaster again and Dad,” he choked a little but pressed on, “_Dad_ and I walked in on them when we went to practice. Dad told me to wait outside…but I didn’t and heard Zucco say that we would pay for this before Dad chased him out.”

Doubtless Dick had come to the same conclusion the Bat had; Zucco had kept his word, and the Flying Graysons had paid for it.

They stood there for a moment, two figures in the shadows; one considering the other.

“So, you gonna stop him or what?” Dick asked, smearing his nose against the short-sleeve of his tunic.

“…Yes,” the Bat answered. He pondered for a second more before asking a question of his own.

“How would you like to help?”

* * *

It took a few weeks to finally track down the hole Zucco had been dug into, and a few weeks more to finish preparations, but _finally_ the night had arrived.

* * *

“…send the next shipment on Tuesday so the bay’s clear for Wednesday; and make sure no crates are damaged this time!” Zucco growled as he sat at his desk cleaning his favorite snub-nosed revolver. It didn’t need a cleaning, and he wasn’t cleaning it correctly _at all_, but he like the image he thought doing so gave his audience.

“Yes boss,” the goon replied, turning to leave.

“And get me my espresso!” Zucco called to his back. Focusing back on his gun, the gangster deemed it “clean” enough, and set about reloading it with the same six bullets that had been in the cylinder for the past year.

_Crack-tsssss_

“That had better not have been the sound of my good china hitting the floor or someone’s ass is gonna join it!” Zucco shouted. He waited a few moments, expecting one goon or another to open the door and begin groveling about whatever.

It never happened.

“Hey! You gone deaf or some’in? Where’s my drink!”

_Ba-ba-dump_

“What are you idiots doing out there?! Learning the cha-cha?!” Zucco rose and stomped over to the door, already narrowing down what punishment would befall the next idiot to enter his line of sight, regardless of whether or not they were at fault. His hand hadn’t even made contact with the metal of the knob before a scream pierced through the air, slicing even through the heavy oak of his door.

Zucco was not a smart man, but he wasn’t stupid. Doubling back, he grabbed his now loaded gun and turned off his office light before opening his door a crack.

The hallway was far dimmer than it should have been, even without the light of his office, and it took a minute for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he realized there was a shape lying in a pile just down the hall towards the kitchen. Padding slowly towards it, he discovered the unconscious form of the goon he’d tasked with getting his espresso.

“Useless,” he grumbled, making his way further down, where a light softly glowed ahead.

Everywhere he went, Zucco found more and more KO’ed underlings, the previous quiet of the night routinely broken by yells, screams, thuds and then a moment of silence before the cycle began anew. Following the ruckus he eventually arrived at the loading bay of the warehouse. More bodies littered the floor– some were even cratering boxes of his merchandise –but there was one henchman still on his feet, turning around and around and pointing his gun in every direction frantically.

“YOU! What the hell is going on here?!” the boss gangster demanded.

“Whereisit-whereisit-whereisit-“ the goon mumbled feverishly as he tried to look in every corner of the ceiling at once.

“Where’s what, you idiot?! Who the hell did this?!”

The goon turned his wide eyes onto his boss and said “The Ba–“ before a shadow fell onto him from above and made him vanish.

“What the fuck!” Zucco screamed, aiming uselessly at where his goon had been.

His heart raced as he slammed his back against the wall and tried to think. He should be able to think shouldn’t he? He _is_ the boss after all!

Eyes darting this way and that, he ran down a list of everyone in Gotham who could have pulled a stunt like this. He did _not_ like the name he came up with.

“It’s not real. _He’s_ not real! Just some story punks tell each other at night for shits and giggles! He’s not real; he _can’t_ be real!”

“Who’s not real, mister?”

“GAH!” Zucco screamed, pointing his revolver to his right. There, seated crossed-legged on a box like it was a normal park bench was…a kid?

“Who the fuck are you?! The hell you think you’re doing, giving me a heart attack like that?!” the gangster growled, debating the pros and cons of just wasting the kid now.

“Tsk tsk tsk,” the boy- and it was just a boy, wasn’t it? –wagged his finger at Zucco. “Now, is that the kind of language you should be using around a child? For shame, Zucco, for shame.” The kid actually had the audacity to shake his head in disappointment at him.

“Look, you little _shit_, I don’t have time…for…your…”

“What’s a matter, mister?”

Zucco had been advancing on the kid as he yelled, but as he got closer his steps slowed and his voice died in his throat.

Something was wrong.

The kid…the kid was too pale. The only skin he showed was on his arms and the bottom part of his face beneath pitch black hair, but even in the dim light of the room Zucco could tell that the tone… just wasn’t _right_. And only on his second look did he notice the kid’s outfit. It was red and green with gold trimmings, and stuck to him like a second skin, save for the folds of what seemed to be a black cape off the back of his shoulders. It looked…_familiar_ somehow.

His too pale face was split by a wide, bleach white grin that should have been childish playful in any other setting but now just seemed like it was radiating a twisted emotion. Not quite glee, not rage; something that was both and neither and _unnerving_. And above that was…nothing. Just, a dark void with two white spots where eyes _should_ be.

“What’s a matter, mister?” the boy- _was_ it a boy? –asked again. His head tilted slowly to one side until Zucco swore he heard a crack.

He’d seen that outfit before. He _knows_ he has. But where?

“What’s a matter, mister?”

His nose tickled as it began to be filled with the scent of something. Not quite rancid, but definitely not fresh…

Coppery…

“What’s a matter, mister?”

That tunic…the red covering the front…is it…is it _glistening_?

“What’s a–“

“SHUT UP!” Zucco screamed both hands gripping his gun and he pulled the trigger again and again. The muzzle-flash from the very start blinded him after being in the low light for so long, but he didn’t stop until the gun clicked empty.

Blinking rapidly, chest heaving, the gangster stared at the spot where the…_thing_, had sat; perfectly empty aside from the addition of six imperfectly placed bullet holes.

Gasping for air, Zucco’s eyes darted all around even as the rest of him was frozen stiff.

_Laughter_ echoed around the loading bay.

Zucco’s cry of panic came out as a gurgle as he snatched up a gun from one of his fallen henchmen and pointed it around.

He caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye and quickly chased it with the barrel of the gun.

_BANG-BANG_

Crates splintered apart.

“Ha ha ha!”

Another flash of red.

_BANG-BANG-BANG_

Around and around they went. At times the specter would pause just long enough for Zucco to get a half-good look at him, before he vanished before his eyes again.

Right around when this gun clicked empty, it clicked in Zucco’s head where he’d seen that outfit before.

Red chest, green sleeves and legs, gold trimmings up the middle– the circus. The wire. The Graysons.

How-but-he’d killed them! They were dead! Dead dead _dead!_

“What’s a matter, _mister_?” a voice cheerily piped in his ear, the stench of fresh blood coming with it.

“_Bat_ gotcha tongue?”

Zucco’s scream reverberated all around the warehouse as he promptly drenched his pants, and a good bit of the floor.

_

The police arrived sometime later to the sight of two dozen men tied and lined up along the warehouse wall right next to the open bay door showcasing all of their illegal merchandise.

Among them was the still conscious, huddled form of Zucco, rocking back and forth with a wild look in his eye and more grey in his hair than shown his last surveillance photo.

“Can’t…can’t…hit him…ya can’t…nothin’…nothin’ to hit…just laughs and-and flies away…away…like a bird…a-a damn bloody...red bird…can’t hit…can’t hit him oh no…can’t hit a robin…”

“The hell’s he on about?” a cop asked. “He saying a bird did all this?”

“Not a bird…nononono…not a bird…not a kid either…”

“Kid? You saw a kid here?”

“So much red…and…black…the Bat...the Bat is real-the Bat is REAL!” Zucco screamed breaking down as he stared up past the cops.

Turning around, the officers looked up and witnessed two figures standing on the rooftop corner of the building directly across from them.

One was merely the suggestion of a man; tall, black as the night, with an intensity that could be felt even from four stories down.

The one next to that was smaller, gangly almost; its own outline a drop of brilliant red against the dark skyline.

Alarmed yells sounded, but by the time a beam of light shown on where they had been seen, the duo had already vanished.

And so, the Gotham City Police had its very first verified sighting of the cryptid known as the Batman, and the imp that would soon claim the name of Robin, the Boy Horror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely DO take prompts.  
If you have an idea that you think would go well with this fic, or just have something that you wanna see, drop a line! I'll see what I can do!


	3. How Superman Met Batman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided that this universe takes place in the limbo that is Batman the Animated Series.  
Ergo, we have zero idea of what decade it actually is; the cars say forties, the outfits bounce between the fifties and eighties while skipping the seventies, and the gangsters all scream Chicago twenties.  
Gotham is just "like that" and gravity is questionable to boot if you're smart and/or dumb enough.
> 
> Also chapters will be posted in a non-linear fashion because I don't feel like writing things chronologically

Clark had never heard of any of "Gotham's Cryptids" until after he'd begun to work at the Daily Planet. In his defense, the citizens of Smallville were more concerned with the weather report and scores of the local sports teams than the goings on of a city several state lines away.

So when Lois said she couldn't wait to finally get the goods on the "Dark Knight", he was a bit bemused.

"Dark Knight? That a nickname for some athlete?"

"Your naivete never fails to amaze, Smallville." Lois quipped teasingly. 

"The Dark Knight is a moniker for some guy who stalks the city of Gotham at night looking for criminals to beat up. Also known as, 'The Batman'."

"Oh? Another vigilante? Like Superman?"

"No way!" Jimmy squeaked, popping up at Lois' shoulder like a Jack-in-the-box, and nearly getting an elbow to the eye for his trouble. "That freak's got nothing on my boy in blue!" He skulked around Clark's desk, trying to look dark and sinister...but mostly failing.

"They say the Bat isn't just another dude in a costume like that arrow fella over in Star City; that he ain't even human!"

"Oh, please," Lois rolled her eyes fondly.

"It's true! People who've seen him and lived to tell the tale say he doesn't move right; like he has extra joints in some places and no bones at all in others! That it's more like a living shadow that decides to become solid the second before it slams into your face like a sledgehammer! Like a _ demon _ born from the darkest part of hell itself!"

"Really?" Clark asked, adjusting his glasses.

"And just _ where _ are we getting this information? Hm?" Lois demanded. 

"A picture's worth a thousand words, but tongues can still get the job done," Jimmy quipped. At the reporters' less than amused faces, he admitted he was friends with photographers in other cities and they liked to talk shop.

"Any of these friends happen to _ actually _ get a picture? Or are all their words just the thin air kind?" Lois teased.

"What are you kidding? Taking a picture of the Bat and his Brood is like taking a picture of a flying bullet with a wind-up Polaroid; it ain't happening!"

"I'm sorry, his _ 'Brood' _"?

"Stop encouraging him, Kent. Bat-_ man _'s obviously just another guy in a mask using his fists to try to clean up the cesspit that is Gotham's underbelly. There's no such thing as the supernatural."

"Pft- says the chick who gets saved by an alien every other week."

"_ Aliens _ are real and will happily sit for photos if asked politely. Ghosts, goblins, and the boogeyman are not."

"And _ yet _, Robin exists!"

"_Allegedly!_"

"I'm sorry- who now?" Clark interrupted, feeling just as confused as when the conversation had begun.

"Robin- _the Boy Horror_, as he's sometimes known -is part of the Bat's Brood," the photographer answered before dropping his voice to 'scary' levels.

"They say one night the Bat was too late to save the life of a boy who was murdered in a back alley. He was so angry at what had happened that he dragged the kid back from the dead and made him his apprentice. Those who've seen the kid _ swear _ he's still soaked in the blood that flowed out of him the night he died, but he's so happy to be back that he just laughs and flits around. Like a robin dancing through tree branches."

"That...doesn't sound all that scary. Y'know aside from the blood thing."

"Oh, but that's not all! They say he's already picked up Batman's ability to melt into the shadows and disappear! And that while he's easier to hit than the Bat, because he's already been dead he just shrugs off blows that would make even Superman notice and be seen bouncing around the next night!"

"You're full of it, Olsen," drolled Lane.

"It's true! My buddy Ricky got a hold of a police report that said this thug managed to grab Robin and threw him off a roof six stories up! But then a _ different _report the next day said Robin was seen stringing a guy up a light post single handedly!"

"Alright, ignoring the roof-throwing bit for a second, the fact that this so called Batman and crew are leaving people tied up- with _ physical _ rope - _ proves _ that they're not supernatural what-have-yous from dimension wherever; they're _real_ people whose gimmick just happens to be all dark and scary like. That's practically the Gotham brand." Lois crossed her arms smugly.

“Ah, what do you know!” Jimmy pouted.

“Everything, after I arrive in Gotham tomorrow,” Lois smirked. “Perry wants me to see if my luck with Superman extends to other so-called crime-fighters.”

Clark sat up at that. “You’re going alone?”

“Relax, Smallville. There’s never been a verified report of the Bat ever harming an innocent civilian.”

“Heh, innocent she says.”

“Hush, Olsen.”

“Bat or no Bat, Gotham still has one of the highest violent crime rates in the whole country!”

“Oh please! Nothing but a bunch of gangsters and wannabes. That’s nothing compared to what a regular Tuesday is around here. If fact, just _ last _ Tuesday, I got that scoop on an illegal laser-rifle factory using alien tech.”

“Didn’t that factory blow up? With you in it?” Olsen asked.

“Exactly! If I can handle that, Gotham oughta be a breeze!”

“You call ‘Superman flying you out of the factory before it blew’, handling it?” Clark wondered.

“Hate to see what happens when she loses control of everything.”

“You two have no faith! I was getting myself outta jams _ long _ before the Man of Steel showed up!” Lois huffed, arms akimbo.

“Maybe Gotham’s the one we should be worried about?”

“Heh, _yeah!_ Especially if they have any explosive factories,” Jimmy chuckled.

“Laugh all you want, Olsen, ‘cause Perry said you’re coming with me!”

Jimmy’s face turned stark white he paled so quickly.

“Wha-me?! Why me?!”

“Because I need a photographer to get the first ever photo of Batman and you’re him!”

“The hell I am! If I get his picture, Batman will steal my soul!”

“I thought cameras were supposed to capture souls, not the other way around?” Kent teased.

“If anything could find a way, it’s the Bat!”

“Only one way to find out!” Lois exclaimed gleefully while Jimmy was reduced to gibbering.

* * *

It’s not that Clark didn’t have faith in Lois’s ability to handle herself (he’d seen firsthand that she could and, more importantly, _ would _) but the whole conversation had him curious. And so that night the skies of Gotham was paid a visit by Superman, who took advantage of the constant clouds and floating blimps– “Why does one city need so many blimps?” –and flew around trying to see if he could hear anything concerning the creature known as Batman.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Not ten minutes after he’d arrived, the Kryptonian heard a voice call out “–Aw, geez! It’s the Bat!”

Following the yell, Superman flew to the top of a building overlooking some docks and warehouses. He could have just busted right in to see what the commotion was all about, but didn’t want to give himself away too soon. No need to spook the very thing he came to see just yet…

Using his x-ray vision, he peered through the walls and quickly took stock of the situation.

The main room of the warehouse, where most of the people inside seemed to be, was stocked high with crates. Tables were laid out here and there, just brimming with wads and wads of cash, the bands on them reading “Gotham First National Bank”. Masks lay haphazardly amongst the bills, presumably tossed there by the four men now holding guns and peering anxiously around the room.

Bank robbers, maybe?

Focusing back on the men, Superman realized a fifth man was actually on the other side of the room, smashed into a crate with his hands and feet bound. A closer look revealed that while he would have severe bruising for weeks to come, he’d eventually make a full recovery. It was while pulling his gaze back to the other men that Clark saw _ him _ for the first time.

He’d been so high up in the rafters that Superman had looked straight past him, too intent to see the floor where the voices were coming from. But now that he saw him clearly, he couldn’t look away.

He certainly _ looked _ like a bat that’s for sure; everything from the edge of his cape to the points of his ears. The bones beneath the cowl were definitely human shaped though, albeit riddle with more healed bones fractures than Clark had ever seen in one body. Still, everything checked out; from his organs to his _ very _ well defined muscles that even Lois would raise an eyebrow at. _ He _ certainly did.

But something about his face, the one half hidden beneath the mask, intrigued Superman. Something about it...seemed so familiar…

Clark was so busy wracking his brain to see if a name would fall out that he nearly missed all the action.

Quick and silent as anything, the Batman fell off his perch and landed on the concrete floor with a tap the Kryptonian was sure he did on purpose to attract the goons’ attention, his landing softened as it was by a rappel rope Clark was sure only he noticed, thin and black as it was.

From there he...began to move _ wrongly _, just as Jimmy said he would. And looking only skin deep, Superman was inclined to agree with him. What should have been simple and normal steps forward, instead looked like the man was plugged into a malfunctioning electric socket. Things twisted and jerked in random fashion, and yet the Bat seemed to slide through the air easier than a skater on ice.

Looking closer, however, revealed that while the Bat was moving..._ unorthodoxly _ , his bones, joints, and muscles were all still intact. Everything was acting well within its range of motion, it’s just that said range of motion was... _ very _ unsettling to watch.

And as the robbers lost their collective shit, as Lois would say, it dawned on Clark that the Bat was doing it on _ purpose _ . He _ wanted _ them to be unsettled, and the longer he watched the clearer everything became.

The cape made him seem even bigger than he actually was so that the men aimed at one big target, but wound up missing the smaller, crucial, one within. Gadget after gadget was pulled from spots on his belt and deployed with supreme efficiency. A flash bang to make them blind. Small pieces of metal thrown at their hands to make them drop their weapons. And a small device capable of launching more of the line he’d seen earlier to catapult him from one side of the room to the other in a flash. Not even mentioning the sheer level of skill he had in hand-to hand combat, even while moving so strangely.

With his superior eyes, Superman could see all of this in absolute detail from clear across the street and three stories up. All the tricks and decoys and misdirects.

But to the goons down in the thick of it? With nothing but what their average senses are telling them is out in the dark?

God Almighty, what else could it look like but a literal demon from hell? They might just piss themselves.

Oop– one just did!

The police eventually arrived but Clark was too busy trying not to laugh too loud and give himself away. The sheer _ genius _ of it all!

But what finally did him in was what happened as Batman was leaving the back of the warehouse, all goons safely tied up in a bow for the cops to find.

Superman watched as a slick black car slid to a stop right in front of the Bat, the top opening up to reveal no one within. Clark was mid-wonder about remote controls and risk to pedestrians when the Bat stopped halfway into the vehicle–

And looked _ straight _ up to where he was silently hovering.

The Kryptonian gasped, despite _ knowing _ that this was just a regular man with extraordinary skill and gear.

Batman gazed at him.

Superman stared back.

And then, a _ grin _ spread across the Bat’s face, as he raised his free hand and actually _ waved _ at him.

“Enjoy the show, Mr. El? Or can I call you Kal?”

Clark blinked twice as everything clicked, before bowing his head and _ giggling _ in absolute glee.

In an instant he was standing aside the Bat and his automobile– ooh! Bat-mobile! he’ll have to mention that to Lois somehow –and replied, “Do you know I actually did? I love it when the audience gets drawn into a performance like that.”

“Heh, saw my _ props _ did you?”

“Pretty sure I was the only one who did. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed.”

“Is that why you stopped by? To see if you’d be impressed?”

“Not exactly? Honestly, I got a friend coming to town tomorrow. She’s gunning to ‘get the goods’ on you, and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

“This _ friend _ of yours wouldn’t be Lois Lane from the Daily Planet, would it?”

Superman grinned. “One and the same. I think she might actually give you a bit of a challenge. Especially compared to tonight's quarry.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Batman settled into his seat, but paused before closing the hatch. “You don’t seem too troubled by me knowing certain things. Or the fact that I _exist_ at all. Any particular reason why?”

“Well I don’t see a real reason to be? You’re obviously a good guy trying to do right by his city, albeit in a kinda scary fashion. No pun intended,” Clark sheepishly shrugged.

“Besides, anyone with a sense of humor like _ yours _ can’t be all that bad.”

“Ha ha ha!” the Bat chuckled as the hatch closed, though he kept talking knowing the Kryptonian would hear him. “I think you’re the first person outside of my little family to think so. See you around, Superman.”

Tires squealed as the Bat raced off into the night, Superman watching it go with unexpected fondness.

“I’ll be seeing you….Mr. Wayne.”

* * *

Lois and Jimmy returned from Gotham a week later no worse for wear; with one excellent article but sadly no photo taken of the legendary Batman. Jimmy was still shook up about the entire ordeal; Lois had apparently dragged him straight into an underground gambling den and fists had started flying real quick.

Lois swore the other guy had started it. Clark only half believed her.

Eventually the fight had moved out into the street and was three seconds from getting out of hand when Batman had swept onto the scene.

The Daily Planet Duo got to witness firsthand the Batman’s handiwork, all of which Lois wrote of in detail in her article, and Jimmy even managed to forget his fear long enough to snap several photos of the legend in action.

To Jimmy’s dismay, however, his film had vanished sometime during their talks with the police. He swore to Perry up and down that he’d put the film in his pocket himself so that the police wouldn’t take it and when he checked later it was gone.

Clark had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the look on Jimmy’s face. He could just see Batman sneaking up behind him and nicking the film without anyone even realizing he was there.

_ I should invite him to meet the others one of these days _, he thought with an almost evil glint in his grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How to introduce the Batman to the Justice League (which somehow formed without his help)
> 
> 1\. Drag Bat to JL meeting  
2\. Explain nothing  
3\. Do your best not to laugh as rest of League freak out over a literal cryptid sitting among them casually munching on complimentary bagels  
4\. Fail step 3

**Author's Note:**

> https://whitebeltwriter.tumblr.com/post/187599235767/next-time-we-get-a-reboot-i-want-a-batman-who
> 
> Depending on how well this goes I might add some more chapters so we can meet the rest of the BatFam.


End file.
